


Jealous

by geekmama



Series: Lost and Found [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's daft to be jealous of a ship...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous

It's daft to be jealous of a ship. Elizabeth kept telling herself that.

They’d been at sea for seventeen days now, and were heading out into the Atlantic. The water was a deeper blue here, the air cooler, much cooler sometimes. On cold days, like this one, she would sit in the Great Cabin, out of the wind, and read a volume from Jack’s collection of books, only walking the deck very occasionally. And when she walked, he was there, smiling a greeting, then turning back to his ship, caressing hands strong and sure on the wheel, dark gaze lingering lovingly on rope and spar, and every detail of its structure.

His cabin smelled of old leather, and oranges, spices and rum, and…Jack.

He hadn’t touched her since that day in the cottage. Of course, she had not indicated that she would welcome a repetition of the…_events_ that had taken place there. Events brought on by her grief over Will’s death, manifesting in an uncharacteristic (though perhaps understandable) vaporish instability. She still could not help but feel that perhaps he had taken a disgust of her, though he had denied it that day. And, oddly, the thought made her laugh a little. _Pirate!_ Then the smile faded. He was no ordinary pirate, God knew, and she was not just another beddable wench. They had become friends over the last five years, and if they had been lovers that one time perhaps it had only been out of her desperate need and his pity. The thought made her shrink inside. But the scene came to her again, unbidden, and she could not help worrying at it…

  


> It had been pouring rain, and the door to the cottage had been locked. Clothing soaked and water dripping into her eyes, she’d rattled the latch and then pounded, furious. He had grabbed her arm and she’d rounded on him, breast heaving. But he had said, “Here, let me,” an amused smile touching his lips, and suddenly she had been amused, too, and smiled: the first time in a month.
> 
> With one carefully placed kick, the door had popped open. He had bowed her in with theatrical grace and followed, shutting out wind and wet, though the rain was louder inside, drumming steadily on the roof.
> 
> The cottage was tiny, the bed barely big enough for two, a blue-tiled fireplace, a small table and chairs, and a cabinet taking up the remainder of the space. But it was neat and clean, and dry, though the latter attribute was rapidly being compromised as their soaked clothing dripped onto the floor.
> 
> His smile had faded as he’d turned to her, but she’d stepped close to him and put her hand lightly over his mouth. “No!”
> 
> “Elizabeth…” The word a worried whisper against her palm.
> 
> “_No!_” She’d taken the hand away and turned, commanding him: “Unbutton me, please.” Anger had surged again: she hated that she could not do this herself, that she was dependent on another even to accomplish the simple task of undressing. But then he’d begun, and the feel of his fingers slowly working the buttons free of the wet fabric calmed her. She had listened to the rain on the roof, and pointedly ignored any thoughts that threatened the moment. “Hurry!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.
> 
> “I’m hurryin’,” he’d replied, a smile in his voice.
> 
> She had swallowed hard, her head drooping.
> 
> After another minute his hands had moved to her shoulders, pushing the dress off of them. She’d stripped it from her arms and let it drop to the floor in a soggy heap. Then she turned to him.
> 
> He’d seen her like that before, of course, in just her chemise, soaked, the nipples of her slight breasts erect with damp and cold. He hadn’t touched her that first time, not counting the arm slipped ‘round her shoulders that she’d spurned so adroitly that night on the beach. But this time he looked down and lifted his hands and slowly but deliberately stroked the backs of his fingers against the sides of her breasts. She had stiffened slightly; then his thumbs had brushed over her jutting nipples and she had given a little shiver, half-closing her eyes. It had been too long.
> 
> She forced her eyes open and looked into his: those dark eyes, fathoms deep. “Take off your clothes,” she’d choked, and, turning away, began to struggle out of the chemise.
> 
> By the time she finished and turned back to him, he had taken off his hat and stripped off his wet coat and vest, laying them on the table. She’d come to him then, stark naked, thinner than she should have been she knew, and, feigning indifference to his troubled gaze, began to unbutton his shirt. He untied his sash as he watched her, and presently sash and shirt had joined the rest of his clothing on the table.
> 
> She had paused then, and he’d put his hands on her shoulders and held her there ‘til she looked up. “You’re sure about this?”
> 
> She had been, more every minute. She’d needed him in a way that was nearly beyond understanding, and certainly beyond simple lust. But she’d asked in return, “Don’t you want to?” for she would have understood if he did not. She knew she was damaged.
> 
> But he’d laughed, “Of course I do, love. I always did.”
> 
> That had almost made her smile again. “Did you?” She’d put her hand up to caress his cheek. “Then do this for me now.”
> 
> He’d nodded, and drew her against him, and kissed her, and it quite startled her to find that even this simplest of pleasures was no less than an astonishing delight with him. It wasn’t their first kiss, of course: he'd ‘kissed the bride’ with great alacrity at the wedding. But he’d been only one of many that day, and Will had been foremost in her thoughts. Now, however, there was only Jack, and it made all the difference. As he kissed her, his hands moved over her without hesitation, one cupping the back of her head, the other drifting down her back to splay, warm and shockingly intimate, across her buttocks, pulling her hips against his, where she could feel him, already hard, under the damp, confining cloth of his breeches. Her mouth had opened against his in a little gasp at the raw sensuality of it, and she’d given another as he nipped her lower lip, and then tongued the same spot. The coiling ache of need insinuated itself between her legs, familiar and somehow comforting, and her mind had calmed for the first time in days, though her heart began to thud with anticipation.
> 
> “Oh,” she’d said, in a tremulous whisper, and had put her own arms around him, moving her hands across his back. But then her fingers had encountered slight ridges there, on the surface of his skin, and when she’d realized what they must be she’d broken away and looked up at him. He had quirked an eyebrow at her: making light of it! “Turn around,” she had demanded, and stepped back. With a little shrug, he had complied, letting her see in the dim light. Stripes, lighter than the rest of his skin, marring the trim, muscular back in a hideously even pattern. And so many. _My God!_ she thought, sickened at the thought of him helpless and in agony. She choked, “How _could_ they!”
> 
> He’d turned back to face her. “You know how they could. Or you should know.”
> 
> And she did, of course.
> 
> There had been other scars visible. The two healed bullet wounds on his chest drew the eye particularly, but there were others, and tattoos of various kinds, pictures and patterns. There was also a rather heavy ring through one nipple, the buttery gold beautiful and savage against his sun-dark skin. The thought came to her then that he was nothing like Will had been. But then she’d looked into his eyes, which were regarding her with an uncertainty that she found utterly endearing, and she knew that the two were alike, in ways that mattered. “Take the rest off. I want to see,” she’d told him, and he’d replied, “Yes, ma’am,” with only a trace of irony.
> 
> He’d toed off his boots, and then his hands had moved to the buttons on his breeches. “Let me,” she’d said, suddenly, and looked up, asking permission. He’d nodded, and put his hands on her shoulders as she stepped close. Her fingers had slid against his skin as she took hold of the first button, and she’d smiled inwardly at the slight hitch in his breath, remembering the first time she’d been this close to him: _Easy on the goods, darlin’_, indeed! The buttons had been difficult, at first, and she’d felt the fingers on her shoulders tighten as she worked at the placket, repeatedly grazing the hard length that lay beneath the damp fabric. At one point she had looked up, and he’d swiftly put his lips to hers in a brief kiss, but he didn’t tell her to hurry.
> 
> When she was done, and she stepped back to watch him strip off, this patience faded. There were more markings, both accidental and deliberate, but he was shockingly beautiful, sleek and strong and bronzed nearly all over. Will had been beautiful too, but not like this, a beauty that spoke of joy in a long, hard, vigorous life of adventure and danger. She remembered again her first meeting with him, when she’d looked up at him from where she lay on the dock at Port Royal after he’d pulled her from the sea. She had been disappointed. _This_ was Jack Sparrow? The notorious rogue, famous throughout the Caribbean? The man of whom she’d read countless stories? How could they be true? But looking at him, and knowing him as she did now, she knew they were true, all of them. And more. The deep need welled up within her, to lose herself in him, body and soul.
> 
> “Come!” she’d said, taking his wrist. She’d tugged him after her, over to the little bed, tossed the quilt aside, sat, then laid on her back, pulling him down to her with hands suddenly made desperate. Her name was a whisper on his lips as he half covered her, his body as warm as hers was cool. She’d closed her eyes as his lips took hers, the better to take in the feel and taste and scent of him. One of his hands, calloused but feather-light even so, moved down over her body: neck, shoulder, breast (lingering, making her gasp against his mouth), ribs, stomach. Then his fingers brushed the curls over her sex and her own breath had caught. She’d shamelessly drawn her knee up and said, “Come to me!” heart pounding, trying to pull him over her, her hand slipping down between their bodies, intending to take him and guide him. But he’d caught that wrist, and then her other one, and dragged them up, above her head.
> 
> “No,” he’d said firmly, and kissed her half open mouth, smiling rather wickedly at her startled expression. “You’re not ready.”
> 
> “I am!” she had protested, struggling, but he’d ignored her, merely taking both her wrists in one hand and holding her there as he resumed his leisurely explorations with the other. She bit her lip, arching into his touch, then gave a little cry as he drew a questing finger slowly from back to front between her legs. There was barely enough moisture to ease the way, and she’d squirmed, emitting a sound that was all too close to a whimper.
> 
> “You see?” he said, placing a kiss at the side of her mouth, then brushing his cheek against hers. He purred, close to her ear, “I won’t hurt you. Not that way.”
> 
> “Even if I want it?” she’d managed, but then was lost to coherent speech as a long finger pressed into her, coaxing, soothing, then withdrawing and stroking slipperiness over her sensitive flesh, lingering exactly where she needed it. The strange lassitude had swept over her and she’d stilled.
> 
> “Not even then,” he’d said, in reply to her question, and, as she was beyond arguing, he had released her wrists again.
> 
> She’d taken hold of his shoulders, closing her eyes to better absorb what he was doing, but at this most inopportune moment thoughts of Will began to flash through her mind and she gasped, ashamed and frightened. “Jack!”
> 
> “Look at me!” he had demanded.
> 
> She obeyed, her breath coming in heavy gasps as his clever fingers drew the desired response from her. The look on his face as he accomplished this spurred her need and she groaned but did not close her eyes. Satisfied that she was minding him, he kissed her lips, then moved on to cheek, jaw, neck, and lower to her collarbone where he left tiny reddened marks, and then lower still, to take her nipple into his mouth, suckling. The feel of it began at her breast but ended between her legs, and she cried out, beyond delight. She was close then, and she clenched, her eyes closing of their own volition. Then, quite suddenly he left off, and she cried out wordlessly in protest.
> 
> “Ssshhh sshh…spread your legs, darlin’,” he murmured, moving up and over her now.
> 
> She complied, and reached frantically to take his silky length, hard and hot in her hand, to guide him. He slid into her, filling her, and the intense, aching pleasure of it held her briefly still, until he began to move.
> 
> “Jesus, you’re tight as a maid,” he gasped.
> 
> This break in his composure pleased her inordinately, and she purposely squeezed him, hard, with every part of her. She felt him jerking, trembling with the effort of maintaining some control, but he had done his work too well, for both of them. She tilted her hips hard, and with an oath he began to drive into her, helpless himself now.
> 
> It seemed almost like fighting, except that they were working toward the same end, teeth bared, gasping, nearly sobbing. Lips, teeth, and tongues, tasting, biting. A hand slipping under to grip her bottom, pulling her more firmly against him. She clawed, unthinking, at his shoulders and back, whispering his name like a prayer as she came closer and closer, nearing that edge of pain and ecstasy combined, and then was swept over, crying out against his neck. A groan was torn from him, and then he too cried out and followed where she’d led. For long, long moments they were lost, to everything but one another…

  
The cabin door opened suddenly, letting in Jack and a gust of cool air before he shut it again. Elizabeth gasped, and looked up from where she sat on the Turkey carpet by the bed with the book, open but unread. She felt herself flushing scarlet. Jack arched a brow, his eyes twinkling.

“What’s that you’re readin’ then?” he asked, teasing. He came over and crouched down beside her, taking the book from her. His brow lifted. “Hobbes?” He looked at her quizzically. “Never thought Hobbes warranted a blush, unless you’re reading something into it I haven’t.”

Her cheeks grew even warmer at his words and proximity, but she tilted her chin at him. “Are we making fair progress then? You’ve left the helm to another!” The tone sounded petulant, even to her own ears, and she saw that he caught it immediately.

“Ah! Jealous, are we?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she choked, but then closed her eyes and bit her lip as he reached to stroke cool fingers against her burning cheek.

“Elizabeth!” he said, voice soft as velvet.

She took a shaky breath and looked at him. She said, “It would be daft to be jealous of a ship, wouldn’t it?”

“Aye. It would,” he agreed. “So what were you thinking then, to make you look so?”

She hesitated, then plunged ahead: “You haven’t touched me since that day.”

“No.” He sat down facing her, and took her hand.

“Why not?”

“You haven’t asked.”

She stared. “Need I? I mean…usually that seems a man’s prerogative.”

“Not in this case. You’re a guest here.”

_And he would not have her think there was payment due for that._ She frowned, wondering, and gripped his hand. “What sort of pirate are you?”

He chuckled. “You should know by now, eh?” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “What do you want, Elizabeth?”

“You…don’t think I’m dreadful, then? Truly? I mean…after that.”

He rolled his eyes a bit, suddenly exasperated. “What? Dreadful beautiful? Dreadful mad with grief? Of course I do!”

She swallowed hard. Then looked at him from under her lashes. “Dreadful beautiful?” The corner of her mouth quivered against a smile.

The dark eyes narrowed, but he smiled, too, as he moved to pull her close, saying, “Aye, and a dreadful flirt as well. Come here, then, while I consider what you deserve for it.”

  
~.~

 


End file.
